


hell burns bright

by orphan_account



Category: Kagerou Project
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, kuroshin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shintaro wakes, he thinks, for one absurd second, that someone has painted his room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hell burns bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yuushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuushi/gifts).



> this needs a lot of warnings um
> 
> the prompt was humiliation, so that (though i'm not sure i pulled it off), as well as family death, use of blood in unhygenic ways, vomiting, choking, use of slurs, nonconsensual voyeurism. i'd really like to stress the dubcon warning for this one, too. 
> 
> once again, happy (extremely belated) birthday, kai!

It's one moment- one single, fatal second of hesitation- that does it. He's almost figured it out this time; the nightmares, shared between them all, Konoha's strange body and the way Ene hides her face when he smiles. It doesn't all fit, but it's starting to, falling into place like Tetris blocks.

Then Konoha dies.

_There's blood on my hands again._

That's not the end of it, though. Shintaro should have learnt by now that you can't fix death, but it's difficult, when the whole world seems out to prove you _can_. Because Konoha doesn't seem to die after all. He cries (and he cries a lot) and he bleeds (and his blood is _everywhere_ )- but his body survives, mends itself as if the gaping hole in his middle were only ever a glitch, some kind of bug in his system. For a while, everything is fine.

_(Shintaro thinks, later, of horror stories. Zombies, unknowing ghosts- walking among living men, weaving in and out of everyday life as if they'd never left it.)_

The glitch didn't fix him. Of course it didn't. Instead, it bubbles over (just like the red from the accident) until it covers him completely, an acid turned black and rotten when exposed to air- until he's facing them, across the path, with his eyes wide and wild and a gun in his hands. There isn't time (but there must be), enough space to think (what happened to your precious genius?) and it's more than just Konoha's blood reflecting the sunlight now, and someone grabs for his hand as Ene screams-

Shintaro blacks out.

 

\---

 

His eyes fly open, and it takes a while to steady his breathing. He's back in his room. He rolls over to look at the clock by his pillow, and is surprised to see that it's only 7pm. Even for him, that's a weird time for a nap.

He spends a few minutes just lying there, wondering if he has the energy to sit up, and eventually decides that he does- his sleeping pattern is bad enough anyway, and he can get in a few hours of composition work before crashing again, or maybe open up a chat room somewhere. Slowly, he swings round and out of bed.

The smell hits him.

The first thing he does is lift up his shirt, and when it doesn't stick he looks around for Tono.  He can't imagine what could possibly have hurt her, but there's no mistaking it, that stench is-

His entire bedroom is dripping red.

He jumps up, scrambling for his sheets, trying frantically to barricade himself in bed. He lets go when he realises that they, too, are spattered with the stuff- just a little, and only in one corner, but it proves the worst. Someone must- but who-?

His stomach lurches violently just before his mind catches up, and the world must glitch again, because suddenly, yellow eyes are millimetres from his own. He can't move. Why can't he _move_?

"So you didn't die, after all. You're somehow tougher than the rest."

He hears the words as if he's underwater. His mind is buzzing, and he doesn't want to clear it.

"Nothing to say?" Konoha reaches for his face, sliding a nail down the side of his cheek. Since when did Konoha paint his nails like that? Since when were they so _sharp_? "I expected better. You're usually so quick on the uptake, for a human..." The nail's at his mouth, now, tugging it sideways. It tickles, and he almost laughs, but his voice isn't used to laughing. It sticks in his throat, coming out a terrified squeak. The noise makes Konoha chuckle.

"How _adorabl_ e. I wonder if your final breath will sound as pathetic."

Shintaro opens his mouth to ask something, anything (whose blood is this? Why are they here, what happened to Konoha?) but his words melt before they're even formed, because the second his lips part Konoha's long fingers are pushing past them. Black nails scrape the roof of his mouth, and drool leaks down his chin.

"There's no need to talk, now. You just sit back," and suddenly the voice really is Konoha's again, low and gentle, "and let me take care of everything."

Shintaro tries to bite him, then, tries to kick him away and ask again what the hell is going on here, but his mouth is too full to close with any real force, and the most that happens is more dribble escapes him, gathering at the back of his throat and threatening to choke him. He can't cough, can't even breathe. Which would be fine, really. Except-

_So this is why he dies like that in his dreams._

He squirms a little, and the sheer _frustration_ that this had to happen _now_ makes tears prickle at his eyes. For an absurd, awful moment, he's thankful for the situation. Crying wouldn't be unreasonable, especially for someone as pathetic as him, and the bucking of his hips could easily be just another getaway attempt, a small act of resistance.

Maybe, if this were really Konoha, he'd get away with it. The nasty smile he's given is enough to remind him it isn't.

"What, Kisaragi, really? Even in this kind of situation?" Konoha's eyes are wide, mocking, and Shintaro loathes himself more than ever. "You don't even know whose blood this is. I'd like it if you guessed, I think." The fingers in his mouth are suddenly withdrawn, leaving him coughing. Konoha's raising his other arm above his head, but something in Shintaro won't, can't look, because something's just out of place. It drops on his lap and he still can't see it. It's pink. Pink and red.

Konoha laughs and takes Shintaro's chin in his hand, cupping his face again, no longer anywhere near gentle. His nails leave burning crecsents; shooting star trails as he drags them down, clawing his captive's neck. Shintaro's eyelids flutter and he bites back a small noise of appreciation.

"...Tomato," he mutters, and even though he means it as sarcasm, his tone falls just flat, his words hanging desperate and dull in the heavy air. Konoha looks entirely unimpressed. He doesn't even bother to raise an eyebrow. 

"Tomato blood," he says slowly, as if Shintaro is stupid, "tomato blood. The fruit, I assume- or do you have a friend I don't know about? Perhaps another pet?" Shintaro follows his eyes as they scan the room, and realises with a jolt that Tono's cage is missing. Still- this is too much blood to be hers, isn't it? There's no way a tiny body like that could hold this much- and he looks, finally, at the thing in his lap, really looks. It's exactly what he knew it was. It's pink and red alright, but the red was never part of it, and it belongs set against sunshine yellow. His sister's. This is his sister's.

He can't stop himself. He throws up.

When his chest stops heaving, he looks up again. More tears have slid down his cheeks and his mouth feels like it's on fire, the acid in his sick sinking into the scratches Konoha dug. He realises with a sense of creeping hysteria that he doesn't care, doesn't care at _all_ what happens next, and, just like that, he's back to square one again. Pathetic. Pathetic, useless, worthless creature. He closes his eyes and shudders, trying to find his voice.

“B-bring them back.” It comes out stuttered, but surprisingly strong. The confidence in his own voice spurs him on, and he says again, louder: “Bring them back, Konoha.”

Konoha’s expression barely changes, but something in his cold eyes shifts.

“…What if I told you I could?”

Shintaro’s heart pounds. He can feel it drumming in his skull.

“I don’t know if I’d believe you,” he says eventually, and it isn’t how he meant to respond at all. There’s a flash of something in his head. Red and black, falling away from him forever.

_Remember the last time you didn’t reach out to your friends?_

He swallows, and, feeling slow and stupid, stumbles over his next words in a rush: “Konoha. Listen to me, I- I don’t know what’s happened to you, and I don’t know how to fix it. But I want to trust you. Just- prove to me that I can,” he looks him straight in the face, and adds, “please.”

Konoha seems to consider this. His mouth twitches, and his head tilts to one side. Shintaro realises with an internal grimace that there’s a fleck of his vomit on his cheek, just below the strange yellow markings that seem to be part of his skin.

Deep in his memory, something stirs.

It’s gone as soon as it came, however, because suddenly he’s lying on his back, the hair tie discarded, and Konoha is staring at him, expression blank as ever yet somehow in an entirely different way to his usual sleepy, pink-eyed pout. His friend’s dreaminess had been endearing at best, annoying at worst, simple and childlike and completely soft. _This_ blankness reminds him of cold glass, knife blades. Mirrors in half-lit halls. He stares back, and the skin beneath his eyes itches.

_I want to smash you until my own reflection breaks._

When Konoha kisses him, he’s more shocked by his own _lack_ of surprise than anything- this was always going to happen, he realises, and always like this. That thought makes him frown. If he knew, somehow, then how could he have let this happen? Did he want this- does he want this? The smell of blood is strong in his head, but Konoha’s lips are stronger. It feels almost like they could suffocate him; a feeling that only increases as hips grind against his, a knee pressing into his crotch. He gasps, and Konoha chuckles.

“Have you been hard this entire time? Even as you cried, spilled your stomach all over the only remnant of your pretty little sister?” Shame wells up in Shintaro like slime, and he looks away as best he can.

“She was more than just pretty _”_ , he manages to spit out. _She was good and kind and a lot of things I’ll never be._ He realises with a sick lurch that he never said any of that to her. That he’s not even sure how much he means it. Konoha grabs him by the chin, digging in his nails, and forces his face back towards him.

“Really. How perverse that sounds, coming out of your mouth.” Shintaro flushes at the insinuation and Konoha’s face softens, practically crooning: “It’s fine, you know. I didn’t feel anything either!” The laugh that follows this statement is _ugly_ , distorted, but somehow even that seems delicate, a carefully crafted mess. Shintaro squeezes his eyes shut and wriggles his body, trying to escape the uncomfortable heat just below his stomach. Not a very well thought out plan, really. Their hips press together again and- _mortifyingly-_ he _moans._

He sounds like a needy animal, and the regret is evident immediately on his face as colour floods it. Konoha leans back a bit to look down at him, his expression smug and almost fond. He taps his fingers along Shintaro’s jaw, down his neck, ghosts them over his Adam’s apple.

“Mm, you really are… what was the word, now? Slutty, perhaps,” he smiles at the horrified glare he receives, “but it’s more than that, isn’t it, Shintaro~? No regard for your own life, barely even for keeping up appearances… you only just met me, yet you’re already so _willing_. It’s almost tedious.” Shintaro is about to ask what he means, ‘just met’, but Konoha’s captured him in another rough kiss and it takes over everything and, anyway, he’s smarter than that, he knows that this isn’t Konoha, knows that this is more than something going wrong and breaking somewhere- but what, then, what- and ah, it doesn’t matter, because he’s finally going to die.

_You’re despicable. How dare you think like that, when everyone else is gone?_

_Die, die, die._

…Does he _know_ that, though? He only has Konoha’s word for it, and even counting that, only very vague implications and visual clues. It’s possible that someone else… he winces, his memory not quite letting him reach what he wants to. His head hurts, and there’s something wet caressing the inside of his mouth, making him shiver and pant as his lips open against it. None of it is important. He needs to _think._ His face screws up in concentration-

_A spark of blue inside a screen smashing fists but not glass a cry through his skull louder than air a piercing shriek a voice that breaks and falls into something else something recognisable-_

-and Konoha’s hand tightens round his throat. His eyes open and he thrashes upwards; he can hear their bones knock together when their torsos collide, and amid the pain from his head comes a hazy thought that their ribs might slot together, trapping him there. Does Konoha have ribs? Does he have a heart to protect?

_Of course he does you saw them you saw them-_

“C-can’t _breathe!”_

Konoha releases him, but something about him has changed again. His demeanour’s turned cold, and the yellow flash of his eyes isn’t really focused on Shintaro anymore. He leans down. Even his breath is cooler than it should be.

“I’d advise you to stay focused, NEET boy. I’m doing this for you.”

He wants to respond that he doesn’t give a _damn_ why Konoha’s doing this, and that he should just get it over with, but it’s a pointless lie. Anything, anything left of his friend to hang on to is worth whatever happens to him. So, instead, he draws a shaky breath and looks Konoha right in the eyes.

“Do you really want this, Konoha?”

In response, stained fingers are shoved back into his mouth.

The taste of blood and vomit burns his throat as Konoha unhooks his belt loops and holds him down, and he almost gags as nails jab his tonsils, saliva bubbling up and spilling from his lips. Konoha sneers, removing his fingers and parting them, watching the trail of fluid between them elongate and break apart. He wipes his hand on Shintaro’s shirt.

“Disgusting.”

Now he has both hands free, he places his hands on Shintaro’s waist, playing with his belt buckle and the top of his trousers. The boy’s erection is straining the material to the point of being painful, and Konoha stares at it, eyebrows raised.

“My, and I’ve barely even done anything yet. It seems you want this far more than I do…” He smirks as he says it, pressing his palm down on the bulge and making Shintaro’s whole body jerk slightly. Shintaro grits his teeth, turns his head to the side.

“Do I even have a choice?”

Konoha laughs. “Of course you do. Humans have ultimate authority over their own actions; that’s your precious ‘free will’, your treasure and your downfall,” he pauses a moment to undo the button on Shintaro’s trousers, “though some have said that human nature is in itself restrictive of an individual’s power, I am inclined to believe, after _excruciatingly_ long observation, that that ‘nature’ is defined by each of you.” He tugs at the zip and pulls the clothing down with it, though Shintaro makes little effort to help him. The trousers are tossed aside carelessly once they’re off, and they land somewhere in all the blood with a soft _splat._ When Konoha looks back up, he’s met with an expression of undisguised loathing. 

“Hmm, not in the mood for philosophy? A shame- I’m keen for your opinions on the concept of death. For example,” he takes one of his belt loops in hand and pulls Shintaro’s arms towards himself, “can you call a friend dead, if his body lives? Can you call him dead if he’s touching you like this, like the living man he never truly was?”

 _But he was,_ Shintaro thinks with a weird jolt, and then, _how do I know that?_ He closes his eyes, feeling sick, and can only respond with: “You’re not him anymore.”

Konoha seems satisfied and quickly finishes tying Shintaro’s wrists together, pulling him upright roughly and using the second belt loop to fasten his arms to the headboard before sitting back to consider his work. He looks thoughtful, and his eyes flicker to Shintaro’s legs, then back at his face. A smile slowly starts to play over his cheeks.

“I hope you’re not ophidiophobic, Shintaro.”

Shintaro’s heart jumps and he tries to think, remember what that means- he kept a chart of phobias once, learning them out of boredom- and just as the image flashes into his head it also bursts into his reality, something long, black and smooth shooting towards him from Konoha’s general direction. He yells and kicks out, and Konoha _giggles_.

“Wh-where did that come from-?”

“Ahh, magician’s secret. Besides, you should be more concerned about where it’s going. Look!”

Shintaro doesn’t have to look; he can feel it, coiling round his ankle, pulling his leg to the side. He glances down to watch it regardless, transfixed by its insistence. It hoists him up by the calf and wraps itself round one of his bedposts, drawing his leg up and holding it there, bent awkwardly and aching. He breathes in sharply but doesn’t protest as another snake shoots out to secure his other leg the same way- and now he’s completely at their mercy, he realises, because he’s splayed wide open, uncomfortable and shivering. His cheeks heat up considerably as Konoha settles between his legs to examine him.

“So even this part of you is desperate. Isn’t it strange, for this to stretch so much from the position alone?” He pushes the tip of his finger inside without warning, and Shintaro gives a small yelp. “Come, that can’t hurt. From the looks of things, you’ve been practising- you’re really rather filthy, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t been-“ Shintaro’s retort is cut off in a cry as Konoha forces his finger deeper, more than he should be able to without lubricant- and now it _does_ hurt, because even though he’s right, even though Shintaro’s done this before, he never had nails that long or sharp, he never explored so far or so violently. It’s worse when it’s pulled out. The noise that leaves his mouth is something like a sob.

“Perhaps, by the time I’m done with you, we’ll be able to make that work… but, for now,” Konoha scans the room, cocking his head, “I suppose we should improvise.”

He stands up. Shintaro’s stomach drops.

“You can’t be serious.”

Apparently, he is. Konoha walks into a corner of the room and bends down, rummaging for something. Shintaro looks away, focusing on the snakes, the ceiling, anything but the horrible wet sounds coming from where Konoha is, anything but the splash of colour on his hands as he returns, resuming his position- and suddenly Shintaro can’t do it, his mind fails him and he’s screaming, _get away, you’re joking, get away you can’t-_

Konoha slaps him.

He hangs his head, unable to even touch his swelling cheek, and his breath comes quickly, raggedly. His brain feels blank. He remembers the feeling; it’s the same one he felt for years, the creeping emptiness that pinned him on his back and tied him to his bed long before this monster had the chance.

“There, there” a gentle hand strokes his cheek, smearing a minimal amount of blood over his skin, “it’s not as bad as it seems, really. The two of you shared enough blood to begin with- keep it in the family, as they say.” Konoha presses his finger back into him, and this time, the pain is lessened, allowing him to add a second finger within what must be a matter of seconds. It’s warm, and Shintaro wonders almost hysterically if any of that warmth comes from his sister, how she’d react to the very last of her life’s heat being used like this. He shifts from side to side, trying to lessen the ache in his arms and legs.

What really, really makes this situation disgusting is that his erection hasn’t flagged a bit.

Konoha seems to read his mind- he glances at it and snorts derisively, pulling his fingers out with a gross, slow squelching noise.

“Since you’re still like that, I’ll assume we can proceed.”

Shintaro keeps his mouth shut as Konoha’s trousers are undone. The bastard doesn’t even bother taking them off, pulling out his dick with a quiet rustle of fabric. Shintaro has to strain a little to get a proper look at it; he’s relieved to see that it’s relatively normal. The relief subsides as he realises that this is still Konoha’s body. Super speed and strength of the kind Konoha possessed was either going to work out wonderfully or be absolutely excruciating.

Konoha leans in, and he feels it press against him briefly, slick with that horrible red.

“Beg me for it.”

The words are murmured and Shintaro’s in half a mind to pretend he doesn’t hear them, but the expression on Konoha’s face is dangerous. He can’t remember exactly how _human_ the old Konoha had looked- his actions had always been enough to prove he was something close, though, a warm, living creature with thoughts like anyone else’s. On _this_ Konoha, that face looks dead. Something in those eyes is too detached, and that unusually pale skin just looks grey and pallid, now. Bloodless.

This is not a being he’s sure he can ever hope to understand.

“Beg me for it, _Shintaro_.”

So he does. He starts quietly, a mumbled “please” spat from reluctant lips, but when Konoha pushes into him the pain makes his voice loud, and his next plea is a piercing cry, trailing off in “…ease!” as he finds his breath again. He’s not even given time to adjust; Konoha pulls himself out and thrusts in again within a couple of seconds, this time reaching a little deeper, smiling a little wider. Shintaro bucks his hips, desperate to cling onto something, anything, and his arms strain against the headboard, shooting pain through his wrists. He bites down on his lip, and Konoha tuts at him.

“I told you to _beg,”_ the words are hissed, and punctuated by a hard thrust, Konoha burying himself deep inside him. Shintaro lets out something between a pained shout and a moan.

“P-please,” he winces, “please.” Konoha’s speed picks up again and- oh _God_ , just there, that felt good- how can it, with all this blood, this wretched smell and his wretched heart- and somewhere in the slap of flesh on flesh he hears the laughter of his dreams, that boy in black who wraps hands round his windpipe and drowns him in paper. He lets the image drown him now. Lets his mind slip back and forth with his body, loose and unrestrained, and lets his voice pick up in raw, frustrated emotion: “Please, just- keep going, fuck me, I need it, destroy me-“

Konoha complies, of course. His movements are brutal, and his hands, clawing at Shintaro’s hips, leave deep, red bruises. But- somehow, Shintaro can tell that he’s still holding back. He whines needily, body twitching. For some reason he can’t understand, Konoha reaches, suddenly, for Shintaro’s pocket.

Pulls out his phone.

It’s cracked down the middle, but not smashed like those flashes in his memory, and the screen is flickering, a bright and urgent blue. Shintaro freezes. The mute sign is on.

“Ah, it looks like she hasn’t been enjoying this as much as you. A pity. That could have been interesting…”

The phone is held up to his face and he sees her, curled up with her hands covering her ears. He thinks she might be crying. He feels his face grow hot again, even as his veins run cold. Just how much did she hear?

“Ene-“

He doesn’t expect her to respond, but she does, starting as if she’s being attacked. Her head whips up towards him and for a long, lingering moment, their eyes meet. As he thought, her face is stained with tears- but his must look far worse, mustn’t it?

“Don’t worry,” Konoha says, voice level, “I made sure she understands the situation. She’s not going to bother us, but she seemed so _reluctant_ to leave your side… I had to make sure she didn’t get lost, so I disconnected her from the Internet. Your computer’s a state, I’m afraid.”

Shintaro barely registers anything Konoha’s saying, staring at his phone screen, at his friend. He can't imagine how he looks to her now. He’s let their friends die, all save her and this thing that used to be Konoha- and for what did either of them survive? To ruin Shintaro, and to watch him be ruined. Ah, he really is selfish. Ene mouths something at him with a weak, broken smile. He must read her wrong, because it looks almost like-

_“I’m sorry.”_

He’s still trying to understand- sorry? To him? He’s the one who caused this- when Konoha takes him in hand, pumping up and down as he slams into him with renewed vigour, and Shintaro arches against him, and his scream is tinged with regret and apologies that mean nothing, nothing at all.

By the time Shintaro comes Ene’s hidden away again, behind some folder or other and out of sight, and Konoha’s thrown his phone to the side, anyway, discarded as easily as trash. He almost hopes it’s broken properly this time. He started crying, somewhere, and Konoha kisses and licks the tears off his face, murmuring reassurances, murmuring how _good_ he is at this, at being filth- and when Konoha comes soon afterwards, releasing inside him with a shudder, Shintaro has to wonder how much of the sticky fluid pulsing into him is semen, and how much is leftover blood, his sister’s and his own. He tries to look at the liquid that spills out when Konoha pulls away, but it’s just pinkish. Too mixed to tell.

The snakes sliding off him barely register. The arms sliding round him do.

“I love you,” says the monster, “you pathetic creature.”

And for some reason, fast losing consciousness, Shintaro replies in the wrong tense-

“I loved you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> the hair tie and the belt loops were originally going to be a heart and intestines respectively but i figured it might be overkill
> 
> i really want to improve my characterisation of shintaro next time by having him actually talk more...


End file.
